Death and Life
by AlkalineTeegan
Summary: A small tribute to Papa Gibbs.


"Okay, now I'm officially worried."

The clock had just ticked past 8 a.m. on a Tuesday, and Tony stood up, drawing Bishop's gaze from where she sat on the floor. He was pretty sure she was doing some sort of mathematical equation for fun, but he had bigger problems at the moment.

"He's probably just late," McGee said, shrugging and going back to the report on his desk.

"Right," Tony said, drawing it out until Tim looked up at him. "In all the years we've worked with him, has he ever been late?"

Tony could practically see McGee's database brain whirring away, and he rolled his eyes. "And without calling to say so?" he added, which stopped the brain scan mid-entry.

"Are you worried as in maybe he's tracking down scumbags on his own," Bishop asked, "or worried as in he's at home and something happened?"

Tony shook a finger at her and smiled. "This is why I like you. You ask specific questions."

"That's not an answer," she said, shaking her pen back at him.

"Who does math in pen?" Tony grumbled.

"Still not an answer," McGee said.

"Now you're on her side?" Tony shook his head. "I'm worried…" He trailed off. It was stupid to worry about Gibbs. It was like worrying about Superman.

"DiNozzo!"

Tony felt his stomach drop. _Fucking kryptonite…_

The director's tone said enough for Tony's minor worry to become a sick twisting, like someone was wringing out his insides like a wet rag. He gave quick, reassuring nods to the team anyway and made his way up the stairs, eyeing Vance warily when the director held the door to his office for him.

Tony remained standing even though his knees were suddenly feeling suspiciously weak. It didn't help when Vance didn't go sit behind his desk as he usually did.

"Tony," he started.

And the room tipped sideways at the tone.

But then Vance continued, and Tony realized he had been preparing for the wrong terrible news.

"It's Gibbs' father. He died this morning."

* * *

Tony had plenty of time to think as he drove north toward Pennsylvania.

He was alone in the car, though there had been some debate among the team about that. Bishop had volunteered immediately to stay back and do whatever the team needed to get done, and Tony was grateful for that—and he knew she did it out of kindness rather than fear of dealing with Gibbs in emotionally uncertain territory. Tony had seen both Tim's flinch at the news of Jackson's death and at Bishop's offer, so he casually mentioned that two members were better than one when already shorthanded. Tim's relief was obvious and it was no surprise he didn't feel up to dealing with the death of a father when his own was in such fragile health.

Abby, whom everyone had expected to be adamant about being by her silver fox in his time of need, had decided to stay back, explaining that Gibbs would no doubt do more worrying about her than himself.

That left Ducky, and Tony was about to wish him a safe trip when the doctor beat him to it.

"_Drive safely, Anthony," Ducky said, placing a warm hand on the agent's shoulder. "And let Jethro know we'll be up for the funeral whenever the arrangements are finalized."_

_Tony hesitated. "You aren't coming? Now?"_

_Ducky smiled despite his sad eyes. "This is Gibbs we're talking about here. I think it best that, in the immediate aftermath of such devastating news, we don't overwhelm him."_

_Tony agreed, but still he said, "So shouldn't you go? You know him better than I do."_

"_Ten years ago, you might have been right," Ducky said. He eyed Tony with no small hint of pride in his gaze. "Jethro is a dear, dear friend, but you're the closest thing he has to family. And, might I add, you're the only one who deals with his moods in stride. I get cross with him too easily. Perhaps I'm getting grumpy… I never used to be so easily provoked. I remember one time…"_

And so Tony drove. Alone. To meet Gibbs. After his father's unexpected death.

He started to sigh and then wondered what was wrong with him. This wasn't about him. And no matter how nervous he was, no matter how uncertain, no matter how afraid to say the wrong thing at the wrong time in the wrong place, he had to do it.

Because Gibbs would do it for him.

* * *

Because he had left so early, Tony arrived at the house by midafternoon and the sun was still shining brightly. He almost wished it were raining, and he found himself suddenly thinking of Kate. She would have been so much better at this. And then Tony realized he and Gibbs had lost a lot of people over the years—and they'd lost them together. Maybe that would make this easier.

But those had all been shared losses. While Tony had met Jackson several times and had grown to like the man immensely, this was still the loss of Gibbs' father. It was still Gibbs' loss.

Tony pulled up behind his boss's yellow Charger and felt another jolt at the unfamiliar car beside it.

Holy shit, Gibbs had family.

Tony suddenly couldn't get out of his car. Gibbs didn't need him here. What the hell had he been thinking? Why the hell had the team let him—

"Tony."

He looked up and saw Gibbs on the front porch, a half-smile on a face that looked tired.

Tony got out of the car and approached warily, blinking in utter shock when Gibbs actually hugged him. It was a quick embrace, no more than a tug closer and a slap on the back, but it floored him. He schooled his face before pulling back, forcing himself not to react to the smile that lingered on his boss's face.

"Glad you're here," Gibbs said, voice soft but strong as always. "Come on in."

Tony followed, working again to rearrange the shock out of his face. And then he wondered if he should be so surprised. People in pain were rarely themselves. And he had seen the grief in Gibbs' eyes.

"Aunt Mel," Gibbs said, leading Tony into the quaint country kitchen, "this is Tony DiNozzo."

He gestured to the rest of the family one by one. "Tony, this is my aunt Melinda, her husband Pete and their daughter Anita."

Holy shit, Gibbs _really_ had family.

"Wish it were better circumstances," Tony said, nodding at each in turn. He studied Pete for a moment before asking, "Jackson's brother?"

Pete grinned. "I'm the damned spittin' imagine, ain't I?" His chuckled and earned a jab in the ribs from his daughter. "Coroner about dropped dead when I walked in earlier this morning."

"Dad!" Anita growled, and Tony had no problems believing she was related to Gibbs.

"Oh come on, 'Nita," Pete said, still half-smiling. "It's gonna be a long week if you can't have a laugh here and there. We're celebrating a life as much as we're mournin' one."

Gibbs gave an oddly patient sigh and scooped up the glass near Pete's elbow. "Just don't 'celebrate' us out of bourbon in one day, alright?" he said, but then he poured two more fingers in the glass before returning it.

Tony shook his head when Gibbs waved the bottle at him, and his eyebrows shot up as his boss filled the glass he'd probably been using all morning.

It explained the hug, at least.

"Heart attack," Gibbs said into the brief silence that ensued. He didn't miss the puzzled looks all but one person in the room shot at him. "Looks like he went to bed last night and just didn't get up this morning. Neighbor came over to borrow a screwdriver, got worried when he wasn't up."

Tony nodded his thanks, knowing his boss had known he'd been wondering. They were investigators after all.

It was quiet again, and Tony fought not to fidget. He had no idea what to say, what to do, and Gibbs wasn't giving him any clues. Gibbs simply drank and stared out the big window over the sink, lost in his own thoughts and grief.

"I wonder when the yahoos are getting in," Pete mused, his glass empty once again.

Anita snagged it before he could refill it and said to Tony, "He means my brother Andy and his brood. They're on the way from Long Island."

Tony turned to Gibbs. "You never told me you have family from the Island."

He wasn't expecting an answer considering the faraway look in Gibbs' eyes, but he should have known better. "How do you think I've put up with you this long?"

Tony smiled, but he couldn't help notice how exhausted Gibbs sounded. He wondered when he got the call, how long it had taken him to get in the car and make the drive up.

Fortunately, Anita noticed his tone, too, and she gave her mother what Tony guessed was a familiar look. "Dad," she said, touching his elbow and possibly waking him from a booze-induced nap, "whattaya say we go drop our bags off at the hotel? Before they give our rooms away?"

Gibbs looked up from the sink. "Hotel? No, you're all staying here."

"Oh, thanks, Uncle Leroy—"

Tony covered an amusedly shocked noise with a well-faked cough.

"—But we want to give you some space," Anita said.

"Sure?" Gibbs asked.

Tony felt weird watching Gibbs play the social niceties game, and he knew for certain where he was sleeping tonight. He hadn't booked the room yet, but there was no way he was staying with Gibbs if the family wasn't.

"Definitely," Anita said. She gave a small smile. "Dad snores like a chainsaw, anyway. It's better this way. Trust me."

Gibbs nodded, unable to fake a smile in return. "If you change your mind…" he said, trailing off with a wave of his hand.

"Thanks," Melinda said, poking her husband and nodding to Tony. "Nice to meet you, Tony."

There were more goodbyes and hugs, and then suddenly it was just Tony and Gibbs in his dead father's kitchen.

Tony decided to be direct. It was still Gibbs.

"Where do you want me?" he asked, watching his boss take a healthy slug of bourbon. "I can go get a room now or—"

"You're staying here."

Tony opened his mouth but no words came out.

"That's a first," Gibbs said, refilling his glass and pouring another for his agent.

Looking down at the sloshing amber liquid, Tony tried again. "I… Thanks," he said, picking up the glass and downing half of it in one. He winced.

Gibbs gave him a questioning look.

"Tastes weird without that side of rusty nail," Tony said, watching Gibbs for his reaction. He was well aware that some people covered pain with humor, but he hadn't really expected Gibbs to be one of them.

But Gibbs just smiled, and then he shook his head, saying, "Shit, sorry, hold on."

Tony took a seat on at the table Gibbs waved him to. He did not try to process the apology, offhand as it was.

Gibbs returned with a bottle of scotch and plunked it down on the table beside the bourbon. He grabbed Tony's glass and dumped the remainder in his own before pouring the scotch into a fresh one. Tony eyed it warily.

"Dad woulda liked your taste better," Gibbs said. "He hated bourbon." A pause. "Only kept it in the house for me."

Tony winced behind the glass and it had nothing to do with the sting of the alcohol. He started to say something about his own father making fun of his nonalcoholic beer in the hotel that time, but he stopped. It didn't seem fair, now that Gibbs' father was dead. And Tony realized all over again that he had no idea how to do this. For someone whose work dealt daily in death, Tony had very little experience in properly dealing with the aftermath.

"Hmmm?" Gibbs prompted.

Tony realized he'd opened his mouth again without speaking. "Thanks," he said, taking another sip of scotch. "Good stuff."

Gibbs looked at the bottle with sad eyes. "It's bottom-shelf crap, DiNozzo."

Tony couldn't read anything other than exhaustion in the words so he just said, "It's got alcohol in it. Good enough for me."

Gibbs nodded, staring down into his own drink.

"So," Tony said, forcing his leg to stop jiggling in the silence of the room, "the 'brood'?"

"Yeah," Gibbs said, sighing. "Anita's brother Andy, his wife and their five kids."

"Wow." Tony cocked his head.

Gibbs saw it. "Yep, they're probably gonna want to stay here." He also saw the look of panic before Tony could hide it. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna ask you to play babysitter."

"I love you, Boss."

Gibbs gave him a look.

"Sorry," he said. "The team told me to tell you they're thinking about you."

The sentiment sounded strange but Gibbs didn't seem to notice, or think so. "Surprised you made it up here without Abby. You check your trunk?"

Tony half-smiled at that. "She didn't want to be in the way." He scratched the back of his neck. "Speaking of which, Boss, I—"

"If you don't want to be here—" Gibbs started, not angry.

"No, I do, I just…" Tony stopped spinning the glass on the table and looked Gibbs in the eyes. "I want to do whatever I can to help." He stopped, took a breath. "You've been there for me a thousand times when I needed it. Least I can do is return the favor."

Gibbs nodded.

Tony watched him, watched the pain building again in his eyes, and he knew Gibbs was trying to get something out, something important.

A crash at the front of the house interrupted whatever it might have been.

"Danni, be careful!" a female voice yelled.

"Karri," Gibbs said, his voice low as he leaned across the table. Tony could tell his boss was well on his way to drunk. He didn't mind. It seemed oddly normal—actually, everything about this trip seemed oddly normal. "Andy's wife. I don't remember all the kids' names. Help me out?"

Tony almost choked on his scotch at that as the brood made their way into the kitchen. He stood, smiling what he hoped was an appropriately bright yet subdued smile—_damn, deaths are hard—_as he made introductions, leaving Gibbs silent and relieved.

By the time Tony knew the kids' names were Danniella, Thomas, Casey, Benjamin and Bradley, and the story of how Andy and Karri had met, and the kids were settled at the table with their various electronic devices, Gibbs was nearly snoring on the kitchen table.

Andy gave Tony a look and it was easy for the agent to nudge Gibbs into wakefulness. "Boss, you wanna get some air?"

"Mmmm, air," Gibbs said, blinking into a state of attention.

Tony used an almost imperceptible hand on an elbow to steady his boss as he stood, and then suddenly they were alone again. On Gibbs' dead father's back porch.

"Did I ever tell you about the sweater?" Tony said, speaking quickly when he saw Gibbs' eyes land on Jackson's old, worn boots on the stoop.

Gibbs' curiosity was a wonderful thing. "Always wondered the hell the story was behind that sweater," he slurred, sinking into a wooden rocking chair that Tony figured was made by his own hand.

"My shit lungs," Tony said easily, his usual embarrassment on the topic of his weakness nowhere to be found.

"No shit," Gibbs joked, giving Tony what he might have—on anyone else—called a loopy smile.

"No, really," Tony said, smiling a fond smile at his hammered boss. "I came up for that case way back when. And you were nice to offer to let me stay with your dad, despite knowing the thousand questions I had for him about you. And I woke up halfway through the night, coughing like my lungs were coming up. No idea why. It doesn't always need to have a reason. Sometimes I just cough like I'm bringing up body parts. But anyway, Jackson—your dad—he was there when I was struggling to breathe, putting his hand on my back and telling me to shut up and breathe. And then the next morning, cold as a motherfucker, he brings me that sweater. Tells me to shut up and put it on. Reminded me of you, Boss."

Gibbs was quiet for a long while and Tony took a few more pulls on the scotch than he thought wise, and then Gibbs said, "Dad didn't say 'motherfucker'."

Tony laughed. A real, solid laugh. "No, no he didn't. But he did say it was cold. And he did give me the sweater. And I was grateful." He paused, waited until Gibbs was looking at him. "Your dad, Gibbs… He was a damned good man."

Gibbs nodded, and Tony wasn't sure if he was unwilling or unable to speak. Knowing Gibbs, he didn't need to speak. The look said it all.

But Gibbs was also drunk, so he said words, too. "You okay, Tony?"

The words were completely unexpected, and Tony fought not to react to the sentiment, rather than where he knew it was coming from.

"I know you and your dad aren't—"

"Gibbs, come on," Tony interrupted, his voice quiet under the pale moonlight. "Not about me. Not about my dad. You talk. You tell me if you're doing okay."

Gibbs was silent so long that Tony wanted to check for consciousness. But then Gibbs spoke, voice faraway despite the scant distance between their hand-hewn chairs.

"He's gone."

Tony flinched. But only because he saw that Gibbs' eyes were closed.

And he didn't know what to say. "I know" seemed callous and cold, and Tony wanted to be neither.

"Favorite memory, Gibbs," Tony said quickly, speaking before he could lose his nerve. "Go."

Gibbs thought for a shorter time than Tony had figured.

"We bought that wreck of a car in September one year," he said, smiling against the rim of his glass. "The car stayed in the garage until the next spring without being touched." A long pause. "I had such plans for that car."

Tony waited a moment before prompting, "But?"

Gibbs' smile widened. "But I was a lazy bastard on occasion, DiNozzo, if you must know." His grin died down. "So much work that car needed. I started it…"

"He finished it?" Tony continued, only slightly uncertain.

"He finished it," Gibbs agreed, "and he made it perfect."

"No argument here," Tony said, thinking of the lovingly restored classic. He especially liked the color: Few would think of Gibbs driving a bright yellow car, but somehow, to Tony, it fit Gibbs to a T.

They were quiet for a long while, and Tony wondered as he sipped if Gibbses ever passed out.

"Damn," Gibbs said finally.

"Mmmm?"

"I'm drunk."

Tony smiled as he stood up, stretching catlike until his back popped. "You ready to call it a night?" He winced before he finished the sentence, not liking the finality of it. Sliding a glance at Gibbs, he decided he'd sit out here until dawn if his boss needed him to.

Gibbs was looking at the remaining bourbon in his glass, and Tony watched his hand shake as he finished it.

"Me neither," Tony said, snatching the glass and heading into the kitchen to refill it.

He returned and placed the glass in Gibbs' hands, nodding at Gibbs' wordless "thank you."

"Must be tired after the drive," Gibbs said several silent minutes later.

"You trying to get rid of me?"

"Nope."

They drank—Tony had refilled his own glass, too, despite being rather buzzed already—until Gibbs started talking again.

"Can't help thinking about my least favorite memory, too," he said softly into the deep darkness of the night.

Tony could guess at that memory, but he just waited, long fingers slowly drumming on the smooth wood of his chair.

"Day I buried my girls," Gibbs said, almost inaudible. "For so many reasons."

Tony hesitated, but for only a second. "He really brought a date?"

Gibbs looked up, his expression more suited to the interrogation room. "I hate that you can make me forget how sharp you are."

Tony didn't respond—because he wasn't sure how to.

"He, uh, didn't really bring a date," Gibbs said, as close to sheepish as Tony had ever seen him. "He brought someone, but she was just a friend. Guess I forgot he had lost them, too. He didn't want to be alone that day any more than I did."

That was all that was going to be said about that painful topic, Tony realized, so he changed the subject. "What'd you two talk about last time you spoke?"

Gibbs laughed out loud.

Tony waited, fighting a smile of his own.

"He called me an old fart and asked when I was going to retire."

Tony's smile died but he kept from flinching, and he was glad Gibbs didn't seem to notice. "You're not that old, Boss," he said, his tone neutral.

"Relax, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, shooting him a knowing look, "you gotta put up with me a while longer."

Tony shook his head, realizing he should have known Gibbs had noticed. "Would be nice to spend all day fishing, though, wouldn't it?"

Gibbs' soft smile stayed in place. "We did that, you know. Last time I was up. Spent the whole day on the lake, just me and him." Gibbs closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath. "Was a damned good day."

Tony reached out and put a hand on Gibbs' knee. He wasn't expecting the hand that squeezed his back, hard.

And then Gibbs was standing, facing the night sky. "Shit," he said, putting a hand on the porch railing. He swayed a tiny bit, but Tony noticed.

"Do I even want to know how much bourbon you've put away tonight?"

Gibbs took another breath and turned around, most of the anguish gone from his face. His expression was questioning. "Aren't you drunk?"

Tony finished off his glass in one gulp. "Getting there," he said, giving a small smile.

"Guess I'll hit the rack," Gibbs said, sighing.

Tony nodded and stood, too. "Boss," he said, hesitant again. "Just tell me what you want me to do, okay? Tomorrow, for the funeral. Whatever you need, I'm here."

He waited for a rare headslap, or rolling eyes, or a sharp retort.

He got a sad smile.

"Thanks, Tony."

* * *

They sat side by side at the funeral a few days later, Tony in an insanely expensive suit and Gibbs wearing his grief like a cloak.

They listened to the minister speak about Jackson Gibbs' life, and they could both feel the presence of the team—everyone, including Bishop and her husband, and Palmer and Breena. Delilah hadn't left yet for her post in Dubai, and her wheelchair was parked next to Tim, who held her hand sweetly.

Tony could feel the sense of loss emanating off Gibbs' tense shoulders, and he reached over again, giving his boss a squeeze. Gibbs' hand landed on Tony's on his shoulder and he squeezed back, appreciative of the show of support.

Tony found himself wondering if Gibbs would shed a tear, but he never got an answer. The downpour began just as the minister was wrapping up, but no one moved until he was finished and they all were soaked.

Rain ran down Gibbs' face as he stood and saluted the casket, and then they were walking away. Tony followed as Gibbs went through the small tent nearby and he followed when Gibbs crossed out the other side into the deluge.

Gibbs stopped in front of a headstone of pale pinkish stone, head down, shoulders shaking.

Tony approached as he would a wounded animal.

"Boss?"

He took another step forward in the rain and saw the names on the stone, and he stood there, aching for his friend. He hadn't realized Shannon and Kelly were buried here, too.

"Sorry, I'll go," Tony said, almost tripping in his haste to give Gibbs some space to grieve.

But when Gibbs turned, his eyes were clear, his expression strong.

He smiled sadly.

"Wish you'd been able to meet them, DiNozzo."

"Me, too," Tony said. "I'm glad I got to meet your dad. Wish I'd had more time to grill him about what kind of kid you were growing up."

Gibbs shook his head and moved toward the small crowd under the tent. "I was a pain in the ass, Tony. Just like you." He laughed. "Just like dad."


End file.
